


But an Ecstasy

by Red



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Frottage, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Intercrural Sex, Lingerie, Mutant Road Trip, Mutual Masturbation, Period-Typical Sexism, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night on the road, Charles gifts Erika with one of the first gifts of what will become many. </p><p>It isn't until miles and days later when they're holed up in a hotel she finds acceptable, that she'll actually deign to put it on. But the <i>results</i>--both for her and Charles--are nothing if not worth the wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But an Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Even as Love is, Undivided and Paceless (to give with joy remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157273) by [Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red). 



> This was originally written for the Smut Askbox meme, but got a bit long to place in with the rest of the "Smut Box" ficlets. The prompting phrase was, "Touch yourself for me." 
> 
> The fic's in the same verse as 'Even as Love is, Undivided and Paceless,' and ties into the "cloth" chapter. It's not strictly necessary to read one to get the other... this is just a porn interlude. Thanks again to cygnaut for inspiring the original work!

She spends the better part of an hour in the bathroom, her mind flickering between decision and uncertainty. Sitting on the bed waiting, Charles turns the pages of one of her paperbacks. 

He’s already naked, his legs crossed at the knee. The book is engaging enough, the sort of spy novel that she enjoys yet pretends to not, but Charles can’t read a word of it. He focuses on the letters anyway, keeping his powers close, because whatever he may want-- _yes_ , he wants to send her, _yes to all of it_ \--ultimately, this all is rather up to her. 

It isn’t until she opens the door that he knows exactly how well he did, shielding from her thoughts. 

Because every decision she’s made comes to him as a complete surprise, and he’s speechless for a moment, staring at her with the book forgotten in his hands. 

The nightgown is amazing. Beautiful, downright stunning--whatever words he has, it defies how she looks, standing before him in the doorway of a motel bathroom.

In her bag, she always carries a small cache of makeup, a handful of supplies that he knows she keeps only for the ease of storing them--molded within a flask--and for a deep-set abhorrence of wasting such simple luxuries. She’d brought the flask with her in the bathroom. Though she’d chosen against the lipstick and the rouge, she has done up her eyes, and while she’s done that in front of him before it’s so very different, now. 

She brushes her palms down the front of the the gown, smoothing the fabric. Charles can sense she’s struggling not to fuss with the hem, that her awareness of how she’s standing and moving and breathing is hypervigilant, and that he really needs to say something soon. 

But in the moment, he’s caught up in how gorgeous she is, how well he’d done guessing her proportions, and the words escape him. By the time he finds them, Erika’s already speaking. 

“This was a mistake,” she tells him, her voice low and flat. She's looking off to one side, glaring at a patch on the carpet, a spot worn down by travelers and time. “I look--” 

“Perfect,” Charles interrupts. 

Erika stares at him. 

“Don’t toy with me.” 

“Would I dare?” he asks, tossing the book aside and uncrossing his legs. Leaning forward, he pats the mattress, encouraging. He’s already half-hard, just seeing her--the length of her legs, the sharp curve of her waist--dressed, for the first time, in something so delicate and lovely. 

He just hopes his grin doesn’t come across as _too_ lecherous. 

“Erika, my darling girl--” 

She laughs, the short quiet huff he’s learned means she’s trying to hide the depth of her amusement, but she’s still heading to bed. 

“I’m four years your senior.” 

“Mmm, yes,” he agrees absently, reaching for her, now that she’s close enough. She stands right in front of him, the chiffon a soft brush against his thighs, her hips warm under his hands 

“My darling senior, then. That more like it?” 

When he brushes his fingers up from her hips to the unreal slope of her waist, Erika sighs. The underslip is just nylon, but it slips light and strange over her skin, and the pleasure which was buried under her trepidation spills over into his mind. 

She rests her hands on his shoulders lightly, gentle as she’s ever been. 

“Act like that, and I won’t take it off,” she murmurs. He skims up the chiffon of the skirt, careful not to pull it out of place, before his palms drag over the lace of the bodice. 

He’d felt her war with that for no little time. In the end, she’d decided to just leave it loose over her own breasts. Charles rubs thoughtfully across the lace, over the warmth of her chest. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to take it off,” he says. She raises her eyebrows at him.

He tugs at her waist suddenly, and she falls into his lap, and his pulse quickens knowing that’s only as she _allowed_ it. He’s hard, so hard, and when she shifts above him his cock smears against her smooth thigh. She smells lightly of a lotion she’d just picked up, her own daring moment in that midwestern Woolworth’s, and when he touches her bared shoulder, her skin is absurdly soft.

“Oh god,” he breathes, and she sits up, smirking at him. Her face is a little flushed, her thoughts hesitant, so like it was their first night together. 

She tugs at the skirt, now, trying to straighten it out. 

“You promise not to ruin it,” she asks, glancing down between them, and Charles reaches beneath the nightgown to take himself in hand. 

“I’ll do my utmost,” he swears, and licking his lips, he considers. 

This is different, wonderful and new, and if it’s going to be _anything_ like their first time, he doesn’t want to chance any further missteps. He scoots back to lean against the pillows, and grins up at her as he starts to slowly work his prick. 

With no little interest, Erika watches him. Charles bites his lower lip and makes a show of it, pumping in long strokes, foreskin pulling back and forth over the thick head. 

“Erika, my sweet,” he purrs, “Please. Touch yourself for me.” 

One of her hands falls to her lap, almost as if she can’t control it. She swallows, before she seems willing to trust herself to speak.

“Why? You know what I like.” She’s affronted, certain Charles is patronizing her. 

Charles squeezes at his cock, tight enough that he thinks it’ll prove the point. 

“Yes. And I’d like to not muss up your gown,” he tells her, and she smirks and concedes. 

“Very well,” she purrs, and she brushes herself through the layers of fabric. 

She’s clearly not wearing anything under the gown. He’s not sure she had anything that went, and now he’s rather kicking himself for not buying something then, not gifting her that very day with some nice knickers to go along with. She grinds her palm against her clit the way she usually does, the slow pressure between a hand and her stomach that she likes so well. 

As he watches her, Charles tries to pace himself, clenching the fingers of hand against his own thigh as he works himself with a glacial pace. Erika sighs, bringing her other hand up to her chest, pinching lightly at her nipples through the lace, and Charles suddenly finds it impossible to shut up. 

“God, you’re beautiful. Darling, yes, go on, please,” he rambles, his grip on himself so loose now that it’s more tease than anything else. He hardly needs even that much--just seeing Erika blush, just hearing the pleading noises she makes, just feeling the roiling of joy in her mind, and--

“Lovely girl, you’re so--I’m--” he pauses, probing her thoughts again, pressing deeper. 

She’s told him off a time or two for being too intrusive, but when they’re this close it’s rather hard not to. Besides, he now feels it, unavoidable and sobering: underneath her pleasure and desire, growing steadily, there’s _fear_. 

Charles sits up, hands braced against the mattress. “Erika?” 

She ignores him a moment, continuing to stroke herself through lace and chiffon, before she slows and shakes her head. 

“It _is_... different,” she admits, crossing her arms. Remorse washes through Charles. That had been exactly what he’d been thinking, after all, and for his shielding to be so abysmal that he’d make her--

“You didn’t ‘make me’ anything,” she says, frowning at him. “Unless your--eagerness--is contagious.” 

Confused, Charles can only echo her. “Contagious?” 

“It was as good as it usually is,” she tells him, rubbing her arm thoughtfully, “But I--” 

She trails off, breaking their gaze to stare down at the skirt, at the tenting in the loose fabric draped over her clit. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to ruin this, either,” she admits. Her voice is so soft, so quiet he can scarcely hear her, and he gets up on his knees to pull her close to him. 

“Oh, my dear heart,” he whispers against her skin, kissing her over neck and cheek and jaw. He pets her hair, tucking a strand behind the shell of her ear. Eventually, reluctantly, she relaxes against him.

“Let me get this off, first,” she complains, once he’s pressed her back and rolled atop her, still kissing her several minutes later. 

Charles props up on his forearms and looks down at her, tilting his head to one side. 

“Would you think me cheeky--”

“Without question.” 

“Do let me finish,” Charles protests. Erika’s lips quirk, and he can’t resist leaning back in to steal another kiss. 

“So finish,” she breathes, and he’s stuck staring at her a moment, at her cool dark-lined eyes and her high cheekbones and the thin amused line of her mouth--before he can speak again. 

“Right, “ he says, licking at his own lips again. “Right, so--I wonder, would you think it too cheeky, had I bought you another little something?” 

“I’d think it too excessive.” 

“Two dollars,” Charles says, climbing off the bed to go through his luggage. He’s unselfconscious, and he can feel her watching as he bends to unclasp his suitcase. “You’ll just have to buy me breakfast.” 

“Hmm. We’ll see if it’s worth it,” she tells him. She’s propped herself up on her elbows, and her eyes flick between Charles’s face and his hands, unable to see anything of the new gift. 

“They’re worth dinner, too,” Charles says, once he’s beside her. He doesn’t move to straddle her again, opening his hands and shaking out the garment. 

Now it seems Erika’s the one that’s speechless, and Charles shifts his weight from one foot to another, not sure how much he should skim her thoughts. _Just a bit_ , he thinks. Once he has, then he can’t stop smiling. 

“See? Not too excessive. Perfectly utilitarian, even,” he assures her, and she scoffs as he shows them off, presenting the front and back of the knickers he’d bought. “I had imagined it might be nice to, well--”

“To jerk me off in women’s undergarments,” she says, and he frowns at her. 

“You needn’t be crass. I know we’ve made love already, but there’s something to be said for the allure of being just _almost_ naked, isn’t there?” 

“Considering where I’m sitting, you’re the one who would know,” Erika replies, lowering her gaze meaningfully. 

Charles shrugs, utterly unconcerned with how he may look, cock bobbing half-erect. He shakes the knickers again. 

“So. May I?” he asks, sending at the same time _I do know, you’re perfectly lovely_ , and she gives him a brief nod. 

Kneeling down, he finally starts feeling a touch awkward as he eases the knickers up her legs, as they stretch slightly over the strong muscles of her thighs. She lifts her hips, once they’re almost in place, and he can tell she’s looking anywhere but at what he’s doing. He adjusts her clit quickly, canting it to one side so he can get it fully covered, and then he’s grabbing her arse through the thin cotton. 

She makes an affronted noise, shoving at him light enough it’s obviously all show, and he settles back on her with a laugh. The lace of the gown’s bodice scratches against his chest, the fabric of the skirt tickles against his stomach, and her passion is surging through his mind like wildfire. He tries not to thrust, but his cock is pressed up against her and he’s starting to feel like he’s never wanted her more, like he’ll never want anything the way he needs her.

Stroking the outside of her thighs, he pushes the skirt of her gown up further. 

“Erika, Erika,” he’s mumbling against her bare shoulder, and she reaches for him, her hands tight on his hips. 

“Please,” she groans, pulling him up against her, “come on, fuck me already, fuck me--” 

She’s so impatient. So demanding, now and in all things, and Charles has had women like that before but there is nothing that could ever prepare for her. 

Though Charles would’ve liked to make this last a little longer, he has to admit it’s impossible. From the moment she’d gone around the room, fussing with the curtains and fusing the locks shut, he’d been done for; he’s been on-edge from the second he felt, second-hand, the shiver of a jarring but pleasant _rightfulness_ when she first slipped the nightgown on. 

Maybe they’ve not known each other long, but they’ve made good use of their time all the same. He’s been with Erika in a number of ways already--thrusting into her mouth or upturned arse, grinding his own arse against her while she writhes beneath him, rutting his prick against her swollen clit--but as desperate as they are, he’s not going to last for anything much more complicated than this. 

The inside of her thighs are so very smooth, the panting of her breath so loud against his ear as he thrusts. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, inanely, “oh, yeah, god you’re good, there’s a love, yeah,” and she clenches her thighs tighter and tighter. She’s moaning, the pressure of his stomach against her clit and his cockhead shoving high between her legs, and he’s so close, he just needs--

Charles has always been keenly proud of being a considerate lover. Ladies first and all that, he likes to say, and yes perhaps he _has_ relied on his powers for that a time or two. 

Who could blame him? It’s such a treasure, feeling the swell and crest and break of orgasm in a lover’s mind--in _Erika’s_ mind--having her whimper under him, her clit pulsing hard against the hand he’d eased between them. For a few seconds, he manages to stop thrusting, watching her curse and grind on his hand, watching wetness spread on the tight pink cotton of her knickers. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, kissing her everywhere he can reach easily, across her shoulders and the sweaty line of her sternum, not caring if he’s mouthing over skin or lace. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you, my love?” 

Dirty talk’s not for everyone, but Charles never seems capable of shutting up, and it’s a blessing that it at least usually works for her. Erika moans again, low and pleading, and he grips at her thighs frantically. 

“God, Erika,” he pants, falling on her again. The damp spreads between them, and Erika winds her arms tight against his back as he fucks her. There is still something shy in her thoughts, but the lassitude of coming always emboldens her, gets her as sure of herself in this as she is in the rest of her life. It’s a bit clumsy, but she shoves a thought toward him, _didn’t tell you to shut up_ , and he groans out her name again.

His balls are tightening and she’s clasped perfectly around him and it’s all he can do to sob an endless and nonsensical stream into her ear as he starts to come. “So, so wet for me, god and you’re tight darling, so good for me in that frock, Christ you’re lovely, I love fucking you, I love--” and he breaks off, gasping as he comes all over her thighs. 

Erika’s gasping along with him, shaking almost as bad as he is, her arms bruising around his sides. In the moment, he thinks he must’ve pulled her into his orgasm, but as he collapses with her he realizes--that was entirely her own. Nuzzling against her throat, he smiles, well-pleased and a bit smug. Two in a row, and the second some wonderful full-body pulse that seemed to involve more than just her clit. 

Tracing light circles on her stomach, Charles lets his mind drift alongside hers. She’s deeply exhausted, and her thoughts are aimless, easy to fall into. He’s not sure how much time he’s there, lost in the nearly-unconscious labyrinth of Erika’s mind. But eventually, he’s able to sit up. She mumbles something he doesn’t understand, and Charles brushes her hair back again.

“Shh, it’s all right,” he soothes. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?” 

There’s a brush of assent in her thoughts, and so he carefully eases her knickers back down. Though it’s sure to inspire her scorn, he starts wiping her off with them, cleaning her thighs and between her legs best he can.

It isn’t long before she’s grumbling.

“Quit smearing it around. I need a shower, not--” and then she yawns. 

Noticeably, she doesn’t move to get up. Charles swipes the knickers between his own legs as an afterthought. 

“Mmhmm,” he agrees, balling them up. They’re not at all a loss, he just needs to get up and wash them. He sits on the edge of the bed a moment. Her back rises and falls in an even, hypnotic rhythm, as she breathes. 

He should encourage her, get her in the shower, let her wash off her face and thighs. He’ll pay for it in the morning, if not--though he’d got the worst of it, she does hate waking up sticky, and sulks if she falls asleep in her makeup. 

But her mind’s so peaceful, for once so quiet he’s intoxicated. In the end he only stands long after she’s fallen into a deep slumber, after he’s watched her what feels like hours, curled up in the gown he’d bought for her.

Even when he heads to the bathroom, he can’t keep his mind from hers. _Like cupping hands around a flame_ , he thinks, and he finds he can’t stop humming as fills the sink and sets to washing up.

**Author's Note:**

> For desperate want of a title, just went with the way of the first story. Also from _The Prophet_ :
> 
>  
> 
> _All these things have you said of beauty,_   
>  _Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,_   
>  _And beauty is not a need, but an ecstasy._   
>  _It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,_   
>  _But rather a heart enflamed, and a soul enchanted._


End file.
